All the Devils are Here
by TheHarleyQueen
Summary: The Isle of the Lost was Hell for magick users and humans alike, but some survived better than others. The fae locked beneath a magick barrier screamed and their powers writhed, pulsing under the barrier like life under skin. The succubi and incubi became destructive, breaking themselves and others down to nothing. Angels killed and demons fled in fear on the Isle of the Lost.
1. Of the line Le Fay

**_This work is part of a series. The previous work is No Escaping When I Start (Once I'm In I Own Your Heart). The first work is Once Upon A Time._**

 ** _A/N: I don't own any Descendants media. Everyone new to the story, please remember to review and favourite it if you enjoy it._**

 ** _Whipped cream & other Delights, _**

**_TheHarleyQueen_**

The bar was rowdy and the air thick and hot. The poles were slicked down and the rooms filled with so much incense it was impossible to breathe. The bar was filled with empty bottles and piled with shot glasses. Girls with bland eyes and hooker heels twirled and danced and undulated with the music, bodies slicked with sweat and alcohol, jewellery clanging and eyelashes fluttering.

But there was one girl, in the center of the room, who stood out. Her hair was long and dark, and she wore no clothes. She danced like she _enjoyed_ it and messed her hair and licked her lips, but there was something about her. People paid for her time even though she never gave it to them, and three others, like her in their demeanour { _powerful, demanding_ }, but unlike her in their state of attire stood in the corner of the room. The two males wore a bloody red and cruel eyes, cloaked in the protection of gods and deamons, while the female between them wore a dark blue evening gown, the colour the sky would have been if they could see it, and striking eyeliner and red lips, an untouchable goddess in every right.

The shorter, blonde male whispered into the woman's ear, and she smiled and dropped an apple into the bowl where the dancer was collecting the tips she couldn't carry on her person. The goddess and the dancer exchanged a glance, and then the dancer jumped off the stage, collecting her cash and her clothes from their scattered position on the floor, dressing as she went. By the time she reached the back corner, she looked every bit as respectable and powerful as any of the others, though her dress was shorter than the other girl's, and her smile crueller. She took her place, and the other man, darker in stature and larger in size, whispered against her neck.

 _"You are the most beautiful dancer, your majesty."_

And the blue-haired woman laughed, her laugh beautiful and pure, and exclaimed, _"Careful, boy. Don't let Mal get her claws too far into you."_

The other boy, the blonde, mumbled something along the lines of 'Says you' into the skin of her neck, too busy kissing her to commit effort to a comeback. The bluenette twisted her head, so that their foreheads leaned against each other, their lips barely a burning inch apart, " _I am the consort of Conquest, boy. No one will ever hold me entranced."_ The blonde boy just smirked, bringing his lips to touch hers, his hands roaming her body, his eyes making contact with the dancer's. Then he pulled back, and the blue-haired girl sat, eyes unfocused and mind revelling in the scent and touch of the man. _"Sure about that, Genevieve?"_

The pretty girl- _Genevieve_ \- smiled and laughed, conceding the point. She stood up, with grace, but also joy and strength, and led the quartet's way out of the strip club. The street that housed Rosie's was just as dirty and rundown as the club itself. The roofs were falling off most of the buildings, and few of them had lights that weren't flickering, out, or red. There were no walls between the properties, and the roofs that were intact hung low. This was obviously downtown.

Once they were a ways down the street, the woman who had been called Mal took charge. Even in her tight dress and rickety heels, she pulled herself up onto one of the few walls in the area, and started running over the roofs, whooping in joy, and the others followed suit. They ran fast, even in the dark, their feet sure and their minds clear. They had all done this before.

Eventually, they came to a stop on the roof of one of the tallest buildings in the city, second only to one. Genevieve sat down, her legs hanging over the edge of the roof, her body facing the gorgeous center of light that was just across the sea, and a clear bottle in her hands. She took a swig and passed it to Mal, who threw her head back and swallowed a quarter of the bottle in three large gulps. Her breath smelled of vodka and rotten fruit, now, and her skin smelled of smoke and a sharp, cool, and yet musky smell that one would associate with magick, if one were used to the practice. The dark-haired boy came up behind her and started slowly massaging her shoulders, kissing down the back of her neck and leaving little bites while he was at it, "Jay," she whispered, exhibiting none of the confidence she'd held on stage, _"Jay. Jay. Jayjayjayjayjay."_

He stopped his actions, spinning Mal around to face him, " _Yeah, baby?"_

 _"Don't stop."_

He smirked at her, eyes glinting in the dark, reflecting the light of the city across the water, "Too late."

And the woman leaned forward until he was lying flat on his back, her mouth at his, her breasts pressed against his chest and her breath sharp. Her words blew over his lips and her eyes bore into his, cold and heartless and loving, _"Not until I say so."_ Their lips met, and they both put all their passion into the kiss, fully aware of their friends watching, both wishing they were in the same place.

After a few minutes of this, and Genevieve and the blonde boy passing a bottle back and forth, whispering nothings and staring out into the city of burning lights, Mal and Jay eventually surface for air, grabbing another half-full bottle that lay on the rooftop. They crawled over to the edge of the roof, letting their legs fall over the edge and sliding in between their friends, Mal between Genevieve and the blonde, and Jay next to him. Then Genevieve spoke, _"Carlos says that one day we'll rule them."_ She gestured out with her hand towards the city. Mal nodded, and continued, " _We will._ "

Jay looked between the two girls and Carlos, and his lips curled into a wicked grin, " _We already would be, if we lived there_." He leaned across to kiss them, first Carlos and then Mal, and finally pressing a kiss to his lips and presenting it to Genevieve as if it were something of great value. She swatted his hand away and laughed, _"Liar."_

" _To you, fair Evie? Never. I'd swear on my honour,"_ he glanced around as if making sure no one was listening in, _"Or, I would, if I had any honour."_ She smiled, and Mal's full laugh echoed across the alleyways and abandoned homes of the island they lived on.

 _"That's not what I was saying, dummy. We'd never have known each other if we lived there. And we'd have no desire to rule,"_ Evie rolled her eyes, stealing the vodka bottle back from Mal, and taking a polite sip. Then she lay back, staring at the sky that was so clouded with smog, and a magic barrier. Her eyes reflected the stars she couldn't see and her lips smiled the smile of queens that have exactly what they want.

 _"All the more reason to appreciate the Isle, in all its hideous glory,"_ Carlos responded, grinning grotesquely as he took a sip of something from an unlabelled bottle, _"it got me you guys._ " Evie and Jay sighed, never quite understanding Carlos's love for the place that was their home. Mal just smiled and joined Evie, lying back and saying, _"It will be our time soon. I can feel it."_


	2. Of the line Grimhilde

**_I'm so excited for this story! I feel like the chapters are explaining so much of the rest of my series, and I'm super happy with it all! Please enjoy the second chapter, and please review, as always! I was only going to put this up next week, but I got so many follows and favourites that I felt like you guys deserved it (okay, maybe it wasn't that much, but I like you guys).  
_**

 ** _Whipped cream & other Delights,_**

 ** _TheHarleyQueen_**

Evie sat on a leather seat in an iron palace. Her face was impartial and her lips were positioned to make her look neither intimidating nor powerless. Her legs were crossed demurely and her nails were long and painted. On her head she wore a tiara made of seashells and gold wires and her legs were stockinged and strong. To her left sat Mal- long hair plaited underneath a golden crown, bodily forced into a long dress and heels that weren't eight inches off the ground and plastic, and to her right sat Carlos and Jay, in white and black suits respectively, eyes bright and golden circlets balanced on their heads.

They looked down from their chairs at the man who lay on the floor in front of them, blood trickling from a gash in his cheek onto ripped and stained clothes, his forehead nearly touching the floor.

"I'll ask you one last time," she said coldly, eyes trained on the unfortunate figure in front of her, "did you poison Gizelle?" The man shook his head violently, rivulets of blood scattering across the tiled floor, and Evie's velvet shoes. She looked down in distaste, and rolled her eyes towards Mal. The purple-haired faerie tilted the corner of her lip up, the only indication that she had even noticed the blood on her lover's shoe. To Mal, blood was like water- easy to find and commonly spilt on clothes. These shoes would probably end up in Mal's closet now, if just to make her mother think that she had killed someone recently. Mal had discovered young that murder on the Isle didn't help, that it only cut down the populace and made life easier for King Adam. That was probably when the four of them had become the Isle's legal justice system.

"Stand up, you coward. Face your punishment like a man," Mal hissed at the man cowering on the floor, nodding at a servant to pull him upright. Mal bowed for no one, not even her mother, "Tell the truth." Mal's compulsions were strong, her nature of Truth Seeker coming through, but the man kept his eyes on the tile patterns and shook his head frantically. The Fae scoffed and nodded at Evie, who sighed and rolled her eyes. Another false case. GJ would be disappointed. They'd really thought that they had the murderer this time.

"The court hereby finds you innocent of any crimes committed towards Gizelle, and frees you from your previous sentence of fifty years penance. If you appear in this court again, it will become one hundred years. You may take your leave after the judges, and any confiscated possessions and property have now been returned to you. Good Day." With that, she rose and brushed out of the room, shortly followed by Carlos and Jay. Mal delivered one last, swift kick to the stomach of the defendant, and then exited after them, already taking off the crown and undoing her hair (as much as Mal liked ordering people around, she was not so much a fan of the court proceedings, specifically the dress code).

"Can't you at least wait until we're out of the building?" Evie asked, though with no real malice. She grabbed the crown before Mal could drop it where she stood. A servant hurried over to take all their crowns, and then dissolved into shadows as soon as they had. Jay rolled his eyes and swept Evie up into a bridal hold, smirking down at her, "But where would the fun it that be, Genevieve?" He too had already abandoned the tightest pieces of his clothing, the suit jacket lost somewhere in the hall behind them, his tie loosened and his top button undone. Evie shrieked, trying to worm her way out of his grasp, but he held her tight, carrying her smoothly up a flight of stairs to her room.

The court was held in what was technically her mom's palace. It was in the Evil Queen's name, and Evie had far too many memories of being forced to burn books, apply and reapply makeup in these halls for it to really be anything else, but on the weekends that her mother spent at Maleficent's or Cruella's (all of them), expecting her to sit politely and quietly and sew and cook, the castle with iron walls was theirs, and the screams that echoed the halls were Evie and the whimpers were Carlos and the crashes were Mal and Jay.

And Jay lay her down and started unbuttoning the dress she wore, Mal pulling off her shoes and Carlos massaging her breasts, her blue hair splayed out, wild and beautiful. Mal was (somehow) already out of her dress, and then Jay leaned down and whispered into her ear, "It's so much more fun when we do it like this, my Queen." And Evie faded out, leaving four people as beautiful as they were rotten.

When she resurfaced four hours later, the horizon was dark, and the beacon of light that was Auradon gleaming outside her window. She climbed out of bed, careful not to disturb the tangled mess of limbs around her, and walked over to the window. The artificial light bounced off her bare skin, and if she stared at the glowing city long enough, she could almost believe what her lovers said, that she'd rule there one day, with them by her side, instead of the prince her mother was so desperate to prepare her for. She heard a creaking.

"I'll come back to bed soon, Carlos. Hang on."

"Not Carlos," the person replied, "and I'm not asking you to." Mal stood behind her, a sheet of some sort wrapped around her body, smiling at Evie. Her hair was tangled and there was probably more of her lipstick on Jay's torso than on her lips, but to Evie, she was beautiful. The Fae creature drifted forward, to stand next to Evie at the window, and leaned her head on the blue-haired girl's shoulder, "Do you doubt that you will one day be queen of Auradon, even as the champion of Conquest?" Mal's question sounded innocent, but nothing about Mal ever was. There was a message to everything. Do you doubt us?

"Never."

The two queens smiled at each other, half-vindictive and half-excited. Mal's eyes fluttered in the dim light of the Isle and tattoo on her collarbone gleamed, the magic in the sigil playing up in the witching hour.

"When we take over Auradon, the first thing I'll do is make you a real throne. One with silk and ribbon. And then everyone will see you like I do, Genevieve Amara Grimhildejardöttir. And you will be radiant."


	3. Of the line Jafar

_**A/N:I don't own Descendants (2015) or Isle of the Lost. Here's a gift, America. Drown your sorrows.**_

The barge drifted slowly through murky water towards a run-down island. The men on the barge all wore bullet-proof vests and sunglasses, and each carried a button that they could press that would whisk them back to Auradon in a stream of light. The barge was filled with vaguely-sorted trash: broken furniture, large pieces of rusted metal, foods that were slightly off, rolls of discoloured materials and ripped clothes. The air was tense, the bargemen's eyes darting around, wary and worried. The barge docked.

A cry of joy broke through the smog, and the barge was covered in bodies; children, adults, men and women all seized the boat, each person picking up as much as they could carry, and then still more. But four figures stood out from the rest.

They were systematic, taking what they wanted instead of what they saw, regardless of whether someone already had the item or not. If someone had something they wanted, one of two things would happen. Either the gorgeous blue-haired girl would stroll over, talking to whoever had the item, and while she did, the dark-haired male would steal the item. When they casually strolled away, the target would yell.

"Thief! Whore!"

And the woman would turn around and blow a kiss, and the thief would laugh and run towards their friends.

The second option was far more terrifying, but far more efficient. The other woman, the one with long purple hair, would step up to the target, and her eyes would glow. Then she would casually take the item handed to her, and she would leave. Behind her, the person would stand entranced, and would sometimes whisper a word after her, "Witch."

And so they were the Thief and the Whore and the Witch, and the last one, the blonde who walked around tripping up others, playing silly pranks and tying shoelaces together, he got the title of Troublemaker. But the Thief was the one who shone on the barges. He stole and he danced and he cried out with joy, and he had the time of his life. And when the four left with all their spoils, he would lead them out, helping the bluenette down and tripping up the blonde. And then they would run, fast and furious, and the bargemen wouldn't see them again until the next month.

Jay and Carlos hid in one of Hell Hall's many secret passages. Neither of them were seriously out of breath, although they were panting slightly. They crawled through the passages, smirking and winking and silencing each other, loot in their hands and joy in their eyes. They crawled through the passages to the hollowed back of a closet, which was what constituted as Carlos's bedroom. There they left all the materials they'd collected for Evie, all the jewels that was for Mal, and all the alcohol and cigarettes they'd keep as long as possible. Carlos was the only one with a 'room' his parent would never go into, and so most days his room was their storeroom, as he spent his days with them, in the court or the city, and he spent his nights with them, in Evie or Jay's room, or Mal's club.

They crept back and climbed out the only open window, lightly landing on their feet next to Mal and Evie, who smiled at them and grabbed their hands and started running. The boys followed, and soon they were all a blur, red and white and blue and black. And when they finally came to a halt, hardly out of breath and smiles splitting their faces, they stood outside a marketplace, all temporary stalls and stolen wares. They exchanged glances, and walked in.

The effect that they had on the crowds in the market was shocking- they weren't Maleficent. They had done nothing to earn their place of the Isle, and yet people cleared out of their way like they could kill them with nothing more than a glance (well, Mal probably could. Jay didn't know the full extent of her abilities). And yet here they were, store owners cowering out of their way, Evie grabbing the nicest materials she could find, Mal collecting the most expensive looking pieces of anything, probably to sell back to the store owners, and Carlos, with a cigarette between his lips, hair messed and a fond smile on his face, staring after the girls. These three were beautiful, Jay realised. They were magic and air and water, and he was fire and earth, and the four of them made up everything in this world.

"What are you thinking about, my Lord?" Carlos asked from the desk of a stall, "You don't wear that look often." Jay's response was to roll his eyes, "They're beautiful. I want to give them everything." He looked towards the girls, whose bodies were now pressed together, Mal backing Evie into a stall that held rolls of fabrics, her lips trailing along the other woman's collarbone.

"And you will," Carlos told him, blowing smoke into the air, "you are a king and you will give your lovers everything they deserve and more when we reach Auradon."


	4. Of the line De Vil

**_A/N: Hi everyone. I'm excited to be putting up this next chapter. I'm really enjoying writing Envy, but beware of suprise chapters in the other stories of the series, courtesy of TheLionSpirit. Please review/kudos, it makes me so excited and motivated to write the next piece. Please be warned that there is foul language at the beginning of the chapter, And child abuse towards the middle. Please be careful & don't trigger yourself._**

 ** _Whipped cream & other Delights,_**

 ** _TheHarleyQueen_**

There was enough incense and magick in the room to choke someone. Maleficent's Palace was always like this, especially when Jafar and the Evil Queen were visiting, and Mal was home. Whatever magick there was on the Isle immediately gravitated towards the most powerful, the ones who had the most prowess in the magickal arts, and that was Maleficent (or so she thought. Her daughter was the Queen of deceit and trickery, and so she never came home unless Grimhilde and Jafar were there as well, and so no one suspected her powers). Today was special, as all of the worst villains and all of their parents were in the same place, a rarity.

The Evil Queen and Cruella sat in one corner, regretting their loss of figure and the birth of their children, while Evie and Mal sat on the dining table in the center of the room in fake leather and plastic jewelry, gossiping (silently planning the next court date) and memorizing schoolwork (poisons). Jay sat at the bay window, sorting the value of the pieces he had stolen- theirs, his father's, worthless. And Carlos stood in the darkest corner of the room, in the thinnest and most tattered clothing he owned, silently plotting a million ways he could kill everyone over nineteen in this room.

The last member of the group of eight stood just outside the door-frame, waiting for silence for a dramatic entrance, but everyone else just continued what they were doing. From his vantage point, Carlos could see the irritation on her face. Irritation was bad for Mal's health and body, that much he knew, so he put his fingers to his lips and let out the most piercing whistle he could, effectively stopping all conversation and allowing Maleficent her entrance. If he was honest, he thought her to be an over-publicized drama queen with no talent and very little potential for true evil, but this was the Isle of the Lost. Honesty was the worst policy, and so he stood silently and pretended to cower in fear when she swooped into the room.

"Our time is near," the faerie's voice echoed through the room and pierced his lungs, but he stood his ground. She was not talking, after all, about his time, but about his mother's, even though Cruella's time had passed with her opportunity for a dalmatian-skin coat. Mal, however, flinched. Maleficent may not have the greatest power in the room, but she still had power, else she would never be as feared as she was, and locking two of the most powerful faeries in history in the same country could cause issues, let alone the same room. Evie put her hand on their lover's knee, and Mal eventually sank into Evie, tired of hiding and fighting with her mother.

"Auradon will burn," came the faerie's voice again, bouncing off the walls and echoing through their souls, "and I will be the one to set it alight. And then, when everything is gone, I will rule from the ashes." Grimhilde and Cruella looked up at that, Cruella's brow furrowed into a frown (Grimhilde had too much botox in her face to do anything other than smile), "You mean we will rule from the ashes." That had Jafar looking around, and Jay crept further into the room. Everyone knew, to an extent, that Maleficent had no intentions of sharing Auradon, should she get it, but normally, she at least accommodated the other four has-beens in her speeches. And if she didn't, no one was ever willing to correct her.

Cruella continued, "After all, I am the one funding your ridiculous escape plans. If I were to pull out, c'est finni." His mother loved lording that fact that she was the only one on the Isle with any sort of earned currency, but she had never brought it up around Maleficent before. Carlos waited for the unavoidable nuclear blast that would come from Maleficent, but instead there was just silence. When he opened his eyes, he just saw Maleficent nodding her head, eyes shut, "Very true, Cruella. Only, you've forgotten one point." Her eyes opened, and fae power flared within them. She flipped her head between the three other villains in the room, "I rule the Isle. And although I can't kill you, I can make you suffer. I am the one who makes the plans for the four of us, and so I am the one who will rule." Jay, who had already been chuckling at Cruella's ridiculous challenge, let out a full-bellied laugh at that, and before anyone could react, Maleficent had swooped over to him, pushing him to the floor without the need to touch him. She bent over and whispered something inaudible to him, before kicking him once with her metal-toed boot, causing Mal to lunge forward, desperate to save him.

And that was just the worst idea. Maleficent caught one glimpse of her daughter trying to help someone, and flipped. She grabbed Mal by the wrist and pushed her down to the floor, near Jay. Her eyes flared with power, and Mal was writhing on the floor, blood dripping from her nose, and her mouth open in a silent scream. Maleficent turned away from her, leaving her there to suffer, while she addressed her audience, "Anyone else feeling like helping them out? Carlos?" She turned towards him, but he stayed in his corner, looking on impassively. Right now, the worst thing to do would be to try help. It would be easier to help Mal later, and then come back to clean out the dried blood.

"Genevieve?"

Evie looked close to tears, being raised in a far softer environment than the rest of her lovers, but she shook her head violently, blue curls flying out. Maleficent nodded satisfactorily, "I thought so." She turned back to Mal, who was still on the floor, and Jay, who was on his knees, cradling what was probably a broken wrist, "Don't defy me again. Go." She released Mal from the spell, and the purple-haired faerie lay on the floor, eyes blank and dazed. Maleficent frowned, kicking the girl to get her to move. Eventually, Jay and Mal hobbled out, leaning on each other. Carlos turned to get a bucket and a mop, and Evie left quickly, announcing that the blood made her feel faint, and that she was going to lie down.

"Motherfucker," came Evie's voice, furious and quiet, "motherfucking bitch who doesn't deserve to live among the likes of royalty like us. Cunt-ass bitch. Fucking peasant." Carlos smiled, looking at the blue-haired girl in her real clothes, stomping around the rooftop that they were all balanced on, cursing like there was no tomorrow and drinking about of an unlabeled pink bottle. Mal looked on fondly, wincing when Jay would dab alcohol on one of the many cuts received while writing on the floor, and silently muttering under her breath. Carlos didn't need to see her lips to know that it was probably similar to what Evie was saying.

Jay caught his eye, and jerked his head towards the distraught bluenette, dabbing another of Mal's wounds while he was at it. Mal winced, and Jay brought her face to him, kissing her while dabbing at another cut. Catching the point, Carlos headed over to Evie, grabbing her from behind and twisting her around till their noses touched. Her cursing trailed off into moans as he started in on her, starting from her collarbone and kissing his way up to her neck, and eventually her lips.

Evie pulled away then, and went over to Jay, chastising him for tended to Mal's wounds before his own wrist, and pulling him away, probably to the small, overrun Isle hospital for a cast. That left him and Mal on the rooftop, Mal silently celebrating the stop of her wounds being cleaned. Smirking, Carlos headed over, taking Jay's place. Mal's eyes narrowed and she hissed under her breath, her words slurring into one long stream of curses. She looked at Carlos with hooded eyes, but said nothing until he was done cleaning her cuts. Then her eyes flashed open, and she smiled with all her teeth, "Her time is over." Mal's voice echoed similarly to her mother's, but this time it didn't make Carlos feel the need to hide, just the need to kill whoever injured his Mal, "She will not rule Auradon. We will. We will be Kings and Queens, and we will be great. Our names will echo the halls of the palaces for centuries."


	5. Of the line Hades

_**A/N: It's Tuesday again! I hope you guys enjoy this chapter, and I'll get on with the next chapter so long. Please review, it's a huge confidence boost.**_

 _ **Whipped cream & other Delights, **_

_**TheHarleyQueen**_

The room that she lived in was dark and cold, water leaking from a crack in the ceiling and creating a hollowed puddle on the wooden floor. The room was sparse, with a threadbare rug near a cold fireplace, and an armchair with a broken foot in the corner. Any pieces of bedding the girl owned was laid out in a bed-like shape in the corner. The nicest thing in the house was on one of the stone walls. A painting of two women, one as pale as the moon with bloody lips and pitch black eyes, and the other a little girl with her white hair in pigtails, her blue-ish skin glowing and her irises shining an incandescent gold. A tabby kitten with missing patches of floor was curled up on the bedding, shedding hair all over the thin duvet and pillow.

The girl from the painting entered the room, except she was obviously several years older than depicted in the picture. Her limbs were long and thin, thin enough to see the bone through the skin, and her skin had the same blue tinge, but she looked healthy. Her hair was thick, although is was currently in a french braid, and her eyes were sharp. Whatever else was wrong with this girl, it was not sickness.

She started to go through some form of a routine. She deposited a silver dagger that was dripping with blood onto a rickety dressing table. She placed a leather-bound and breaking book into the only open slot in the bookshelf that hung from the wall. She went to the painting and the bedding in the corner and the armchair and checked for something. Once satisfied, she lit the fireplace with a flick of her fingers, and nodded satisfactorily to herself. Finally, she picked up a cloth from the mantelpiece and the dagger from the dresser and sank down into the armchair, and started cleaning the bloodied metal.

Then several things happened at once- first, the girl went into a coughing fit. Next, the cat jumped up, hairs on end, and streaked out the room into the rest of the house. Finally, a boy with hair as white as hers, if dyed black at the roots, climbed in through the window, followed by three others- a girl with long purple hair and long nails, a pale girl with large eyes and blue hair, and a dark-skinned boy with red streaks in his hair. After this procession of events, the girl managed to right herself, and she turned to face the four intruders. For a second, she glared. Then her lips curled into a wicked smile.

'I should have expected you, no?" Was her starting question, and Carlos smiled, heading over to hug her. They were close in how they enjoyed spreading destruction and death, although neither of them came anywhere near Mal (she didn't know that). She gestured to the floor, the only place to sit in the cramped room, and the blue-haired girl's eyebrow went up. The host rolled her eyes and offered the broken armchair, which was taken gladly. The rest of them sat on the floor.

"I'd have personally been offended if you'd expected anything else," Carlos said, leaning back against her wall, "after all, Hayley, you would have done the exact same thing." Hayley nodded, unable to deny it. She would have done the same thing. She'd have done more, "What brings you to my humble abode?" Humble indeed, but it would do for now. After all, she'd eventually be a queen, and then no one would be able to match her. Except, possibly, the four sitting in front of her.

"Exchange student programme," Jay replied, smirking. His fingers were twitching as if he was desperate to grab something, and his eyes darted across the room, looking for hiding places for anything of real value. Luckily, Hayley had nothing of real value except the painting. Not yet. "We're being sent to Auradon. We need you to run the Court while we're gone." It was a promise of power, and most in the Isle would gladly jump on it, but she wasn't most. Her eyes narrowed, "Why me? Gaston and Lei have been campaigning for years. They know the system." He nodded, pleased with her answer.

"We do still want our positions back," he reminded her, "If everything goes as planned, you could be a queen in a meagre five years, just so long as you run the Isle according to our wishes and bide your time." And wow, didn't that offer get her all tingly. Queen alongside these four was like a mortal among gods. Except she was the god, and they were the mortals. She told them as much, "I'm a goddess. I could take whatever I want." The purple-haired girl smiled, and Hayley knew she knew that Hayley had absolutely no training in using her godly powers, only the mortal ones that everyone could have, should they try hard enough.

"Fine. Say I do. Queen of what? There's a big difference between Queen of England and Queen of Mexico. What am I signing up for?" Finally, the prettiest spoke up, and her voice was like her appearance- quiet and beautiful.

"Queen of Death."

And Hayley understood. They had the power to take her off the Isle, to put her on her rightful throne, but wouldn't unless she agreed to serve under them, to follow their wishes. They were making deals with a devil, and Hayley smiled, because deals were her expertise. "Alright then. I'll get the contract paper and the pens. We've a deal to create."

Later, after hours and hours of bargaining and dealing and revising, Hayley collapsed into the recently-abandoned armchair. Her palm throbbed where she'd cut it for blood to sign with, and she closed her eyes. 'It was worth it' she told herself, and checked the ink stains on her palm. She sank further into the chair, and stroked the tabby cat, which had reappeared into the third or fourth hour of negotiating. She would be queen. She would. No matter who or what stood in her way.


	6. Of the line Tremaine

**_Hi readers!_**

 ** _I feel the need to impress on you that these stories are not cronological. The series is also not cronological, but everything is written in a specific order. Also, one paragraph of non-explicit sexual content of cousin incest. First and last letters are bolded._**

 ** _Please enjoy this chapter, and huge thanks to everyone who has followed/favourited this story in the time it's been up._**

 ** _See you next Tuesday (look at me with a schedule and everything!)_**

 ** _Whipped cream other Delights,_**

 ** _TheHarleyQueen_**

Of the line Tremaine

 _The drought was the very worst_

 _When the flowers that we'd grown together died of thirst_

 _It was months, and months of back and forth_

 _You're still all over me like a wine-stained dress I can't wear anymore_

 _Hung my head as I lost the war, and the sky turned black like a perfect storm_

A girl and a boy curled closer together on the cold stone street. The rain came down harder than before, soaking them to the bone, leaving the boy's dark hair clinging to his face and the girl's mascara to streak down her cheeks. Both of them were barefoot, their feet blistered and their clothes torn. People walked up and down the cobblestone street, completely ignoring the pair except to kick their feet out of the way.

The house the pair were pressed against was expensive, that was obvious from first glance. It was a double-story Tudor, with a well-kept garden in the front and a neatly bricked pathway up to the front door. From the inside of the house came a warm light and high-pitched screams. The door swung open, and a man ran out of the house, closely followed by a vase, which shattered on the path, nicking his ankles. he didn't stop.

The boy held the girl closer, his dark eyes following the man all the way up the path and into the street. When the man stepped off the property, the girl let out a sigh that caused him to spin around one more time, looking for whatever was stirring in the garden. They froze, and after a tense few seconds, the large silhouette of the man disappeared into the darkness.

Immediately, the couple sprung into action. The boy pushed himself up, and offered a hand to the girl, who took it gratefully, smiling at her companion. The pair walked around the house to what could be taken as a back garden, although it was more likely to be mistaken for a small forest. The house that looked so well cared for on the public's side was an absolute mess at the back. They snuck in through a door that had been left open, even in the raging storm, and into a room that vaguely resembled a kitchen, if one looked through the thick layers of dust, broken glass, and what was either blood or wine. From there, they took a cramped, spiraling staircase up to the floor that was emitting the warm candlelight, and separated, locking themselves into different rooms.

 _Rain came pouring down when I was drowning_

 _That's when I could finally breathe_

 _And by morning gone was any trace of you,_

 _I think I am finally clean_

 _There was nothing left to do_

 _When the butterflies turned to dust that covered my whole room_

 _So I punched a hole in the roof_

 _Let the flood carry away all my pictures of you_

When the couple remerged, they looked completely different. The girl's dark hair was coiffed, her skin pale but her lips red, her body slipped into an elegant gown, and the feet that had looked so raw and painful before clean and balancing in thin stilettoes. The boy's hair was neatly combed, and he stood tall in a black suit with silver trimmings. He too wore expensive looking shoes, and the hands that had been caked in dirt a mere half-hour ago were clean, the nails trimmed and the skin soft. They smiled at each other and headed down the marble staircase in the center of the landing.

In the parlour sat two very similar women, alike in skin tone and hair colour and facial features in general. Each wore a slightly tarnished ballgown, some feature of the gown (the colour, or the appealing shape, or the detailing) long lost. One woman cried into her teacup, sniffles and sobs coming out at random. The male headed towards her and started holding her, whispering soothing words into her ear and trying to convince her to eat. The girl just sat on the chair across from the second woman, back straight and silent. She didn't even look to the tea set on the table, only the boy as he consoled his mother.

Eventually, the crying woman calmed herself and stood abruptly, stalking up to her room, grabbing a bottle of what looked like very expensive wine from the winerack against the southern wall on her way. The other woman set her empty teacup down and followed her sister up the stairs, either to stop her or join her.

 _The water filled my lungs, I screamed so loud but no one heard a thing_

 _Rain came pouring down when I was drowning_

 _That's when I could finally breathe_

 _And by morning, gone was any trace of you,_

 _I think I am finally clean_

 _I think I am finally clean_

 _Said I think I am finally clean_

The boy and the girl were alone again, and they smiled at each other, but not in the secretive way of earlier. This smile was sadder, more regretful and angry. Their eyes were dark as they looked at each other, furious with the man who made Drizella cry, who didn't even know he had a son, who tried to cash in on Anastasia's money because Drizella had none of her own and neither did he. They would eventually take this case to the Court, but for now they were content to be furious, because from their fury came something unjustifiable and yet wonderful, something that was there the rest of the time but was only allowed to come out when the cousins were so angry they weren't thinking straight.

 **A** nd sure enough, out it came. The girl's perfume grew heavier in his head, and she crawled up next to him, in the same position they'd been earlier, yet different. And soon, his head came down and her went up, and their lips met in a searing kiss that was everything she missed. And his hands came around her waist, travelling up and down and everywhere, gently pulling her body over she that her weight was on top of him. ' _Astoria_ ,' he whispered against her collarbone, pulling her dress down over her shoulders, ' _Astoria. Tori. So beautiful, darling. I love you. I love you._ ' And her dress was gone and so was his shirt, their bodies so warm and close. She was straddling him, both their fingers venturing across the other's body, a pleasure they allowed themselves so rarely. And she was shuddering on top of him, leaning over to kiss him again and hold his face to hers, their breath mingling in the bare inch between the **m.**

 _Ten months sober, I must admit_

 _Just because you're clean don't mean you don't miss it_

 _Ten months older, I won't give in_

 _Now that I'm clean I'm never gonna risk it_

 _The drought was the very worst_

 _When the flowers that we'd grown together died of thirst_

Many months later, the two of them sat in the Court, heads held high, backs straight, faces impartial, voting that the master of the Tremaine household be put to death. The man who hadn't even known that there were witnesses to his crimes, to his abuse, other than the two sisters, sat in shock, not bothering to defend himself, staring at the man who was his son, the son he hadn't known he had. And this was his son, Dimitri Tremaine, the Truthseeker had said so. And that was how the man died, shocked that he had a legacy, staring at the Tremaine cousins, ignoring the Kings and Queens of the Isle of the Lost (ignoring the Queens was a surefire way to get killed, whether you were guilty of the crime you were being tried for or not).

When the Tremaine cousins parted ways, they didn't even look at each other. It had been ten months since their last night of anger and passion, ten months since Astoria had told Dimitri that they couldn't keep this up, this was wrong, their mothers would kill them, ten months since their smiles and daring escapes. Ten months.

Astoria woke up in Dimitri's bed the next morning, hungover and drunk off happiness. She left in his shirt, smiling all the way home.

 _Rain came pouring down when I was drowning_

 _That's when I could finally breathe_

 _And by morning gone was any trace of you,_

 _I think I am finally clean_

She was right, of course. Drizella screamed at the girl, threw her across the room, hit her and cut her and hurt her when she caught them, and when she told her sister, Anastasia vowed to never speak to either of them again, to disown both of them, unless they broke it off at that second. They didn't. They moved to the backroom of Madame Medusa's Pawn Shop and Boutique, and kept away the thieves and the tricksters, and life was good.

 _Rain came pouring down when I was drowning_

 _That's when I could finally breathe_

 _And by morning gone was any trace of you_

 _I think I am finally clean_

 _Finally clean_

 _Think I'm finally clean_

 _Think I'm finally clean_


	7. Of the line Facilier

**_Hi readers! So I really enjoyed writing this chapter, it felt like something that would happen on the Isle of the Lost and I needed to show that. However, please note that this chapter does have a trigger warning for abortion. Please skip if that will be an issue for you. Don't harm yourself. As always, please review & subscribe._**

 ** _Whipped cream & other Delights,_**

 ** _TheHarleyQueen_**

The purple-haired fae approached the broken shop. Alone, for once. It had never been _likely_ to see her around as herself, but she had never been seen in front of this specific shop, and for good reason. A sign with golden lettering proclaimed _'Felicia Facilier's Voodoo and Witchcraft Solutions. Est. 1996',_ and a murky light shone out through dirtied windows.

The door creaked open, welcoming the young woman in. A smaller, even dirtier sign on the door read _'NO KINGS OR QUEENS ALLOWED'_ in tiny letters. Green eyes caught on the plaque and the girl scoffed, brushing past the door and stepping into the dusty room. Another woman sat at the counter, mixing ingredients and ideas one and the same, odds and ends flying across the room. She was dark skinned, braids tight against her skull and piercings through skin and cartilage. Without looking up, she started talking.

 _'_ _Didn't you read the sign, Your Ladyship?'_

The purple-haired faerie- a queen- sighed. She threw her hood back and sat on one of the rickety chairs in the corner of the room, lips pursed and eyes wandering. _'I'm not here as a queen.'_

Felicia Facilier crossed over to the woman and sat across from her, eyes piercing the wooden table. Her voice was quiet when she spoke again, and her breath smelled of whiskey and nicotine, _'Then what are you here as, Mal?'_ Mal sighed and turned away, looking everywhere except the shopkeeper.

 _'_ _A daughter. A lover. A friend. A mother-to-be.'_

Felicia's eyes shot up to meet the fae's, and she saw the honesty, the terror in them. A mother-to-be. There would only be one reason for Mal to come here if she was indeed expecting. There was only one reason women ever came to Felicia when they were expecting. And now a queen stood in front of her, asking her to perform the same task, and offering what was likely to be any form of payment, and any amount, if Felicia knew anything about Mal.

 _'_ _You have payment?'_ A standard question with what was sure to be an extraordinary answer. Not that Dr. Facilier took anything less than extraordinary as a payment for this specific task, not when the service was so highly valued and so understaffed on the Isle of the Lost. Mal's lidded eyes stared up at her, calculating silently how much she wanted this service from Felicia. Eventually, she went with the diplomatic route, likely learned from her sister-wife. _'What would you ask?'_ Her skin was pale and shining, her body hunched in on itself, showing Felicia exactly how much this was worth to the fae creature.

 _'_ _Ten years' service after your death.'_ That was the standard payment for the service Felicia was being asked to perform, but this was a fae. Mal would never be held down to service a lesser being, especially one that would not outlive her. She may have gotten herself knocked up, but the girl was generally smart. She knew ten years' service was a ten-year trap in a nightmarish realm of in-between.

 _'_ _Five hundred thousand pieces of silver and immunity from any revenge anyone would ever want on you.'_

Felicia's lips curled into a wicked grin, eyes dangerous and body calm, poised to strike. _'Now, Mal, you know I don't deal with something as ordinary as money. Favours, Mal. Secrets and promises and dreams and favors. That's what I deal in. If you have nothing of that value, please leave.'_ The queen's eyes widened and her fear shone through again, for just another second, before her whole face shut down. She'd made a decision.

 _'_ _One favor from me- and only me. Not family or friends or allies or lovers. Just me. The favor dies with me.'_ And there it was. Possibly the most valuable thing in Auradon or the Isle. A favor from a queen, a faerie, and a judge in the Isle's Court.

 _'_ _One unquestionable favor from you. And you have yourself a deal.'_ Mal's eyes shone for a second and she took Felicia's hand, grateful for the escape she'd been given. They shook hands and the deal was sealed, binding both of them to the agreement and the terms of voodoo. As soon as it happened, it was done, and Felicia started moving around the room, mixing a potion, grinding and biting and burning ingredients. Eventually, she handed Mal a tiny vial of a potion that glowed the brightest blue the faerie had ever seen in her life. She lifted the vial to her lips and downed everything in it without a second thought. Immediately, she collapsed to the floor, lights burning within her womb and her mouth open in an endless and silent scream.

Eventually, her body stilled and curled in on itself, trying to protect her from something that had already happened. Felicia pushed her into the corner of the room that held blankets and pillows for this exact reason, and once again cursed the Auradonians for making this her job, for making it so unsafe for women on the Isle- even Queens.

* * *

Mal hobbled slowly towards Maleficent's Palace, one arm holding her hood closer to her face to avoid recognition, the other curled around her abdomen, trying to hide the blood that soaked through the thin shirt she wore. She'd known what she risked when she left for Felicia's, but she'd never imagined the pain it would create, never imagined that she couldn't take it. She didn't know which pain was worse- the torture of surrendering a favor to an unknown or the loss of her unborn child. An arm silently slipped around her waist and she started, but when she looked she just saw Jay, silent and determined as always, helping and not hurting.

 _'_ _You didn't think I'd let you go alone, my Queen?'_ He asked quietly, now supporting more of her weight than she was, _'You didn't think we'd figure it out? Evie's waiting at home with a hot bath and Carlos is taking all the cases for the next forty-eight hours. You've been sick for weeks and eaten nothing the last three days. You haven't been dancing. We knew.'_

And that was all it took for the previously strong Queen to collapse onto the man next to her, nearly sending them both tumbling to the ground, if not for the fast reflexes Jay had developed while stealing. Then they both sunk slowly to the floor, Jay cradling Mal while she was strong on the Isle, both mentally and physically, but this was one too many decisions to be asked to make, even if it was the right one.

 _'_ _I will punish them for making you into this,'_ the King swore to his Queen while he held her shaking body on the stone roads of the Isle of the Lost, _'and you will see that you are the strongest of them all.'_


	8. Of the line LeGume

**_Hi everyone! So I took a bit of a break over my school holidays, but now that I'm back to school the chapters should be coming more frequently. Please enjoy and review._**

 ** _Whipped cream & other Delights, _**

**_TheHarleyQueen_**

A young girl stood in the center of a circular room. Her dark hair reached her shoulders and was held back from her face by a faded yellow ribbon. She wore a plain black frock with white apron tied around her chest. She wore school shoes and white socks that came up to her knees. She stared straight into her own eyes, into the dirty mirror that lined every room of the wall. Something rattled, and the chipped door slammed against one of the mirrors, spreading the cracks further across the gleaming walls. A boy sprinted in, his shoes scuffed bare, middle button on his shirt popped off. His hair was the same dark shade as hers, and his ears stuck out from his face.

"Gizelle! Gizelle!" he shouted joyfully, disregarding the fact that she was barely five feet from him, "Ils sont dehors! Viens vite!" His mostly pale skin was blotched red from excitement, and an angry blush trailed his neck down into his collar. He turned and sprinted back out, his footsteps smacking loudly against the woodbrick floor.

Gizelle followed.

Out in the street, she saw a beautiful girl, a little bit older than she was, laughing at a small figure lying in the dirt. The pretty girl had dark hair like Gizelle's, but it wasn't as long as hers. It was in that awkward stage of an adolescent growing their hair out, not quite brushing her shoulders. Then the girl started kicking the figure, and she wasn't so pretty anymore. She started cutting the figure, which Gizelle was vaguely able to discern as a young boy, and then she became affreux in Gizelle's eyes.

Gizelle and Gaston were eight when they watched Mal maim and torture for the first time.

The same girl stood in the same room, but everything was older. One of the mirror panels had fallen off in the passing years, and the others had become so dusty only the brightest part of her eyes could still be seen. Her hair had the same qualities- dark brown and slightly stringy, but that was one of the only ways to tell that this was the same girl from three years ago. Her jaw had broadened, and she now wore just the slightest touch of makeup to cover up a scar that marred her cheek. She was not a pretty girl.

A faint noise could be heard- there was jeering in the street. Gizelle sighed as she left the room, graceful yet awkward, adolescence making her limbs unfamiliar and uncontrollable, but dancing making them strong and capable.

There was a crowd on the street, forming a crushing circle. Gizelle pushed her way through with the shoulders inherited from her father, making her way to the center of the pack. On the floor lay a boy with ears too big for his face.

"Idiot, garçon! Se lèvent et se battent! Êtes-vous un homme ou un lâche?" Gizelle looked down at the figure of her whimpering brother and scoffed. Weak. She nodded at the other boy in the fight- he wasn't much bigger than Gaston Jr, in fact he might've been smaller (he was pale and skinny- she could see his bones through his ribs).

"Finis-le." Finish it.

The boy smiled, and suddenly his weight didn't matter anymore. He was everywhere at once, kicking and cutting in a style that seemed vaguely familiar to Gizelle (like from a dream, or a distant memory). And he didn't stop when it looked like Gaz was going to bleed out. Aucun honneur parmi les voleurs. And so she stepped in.

Gizelle was eleven the first time she nearly died.

Gizelle was on the barge that bought the rubbish from the mainland. Rubbish that she fought tooth and nail for. She clutched at the almost mold-free loaf of bread and the three pens that seemed to still have ink. She glanced around desperately for Gaz, but hercsight caught on the pale boy- his name was Carlos, she'd found out. Cruella's son. He had a strong alliance with Maleficent's daughter. And he was smart. Smarter than anyone on the Isle had the right to be. She started moving in the other direction, only to bump into someone she'd never seen before- quite a feat on the Isle of the Lost.

He had a sturdy build, like her, and dark hair and skin she associated with those cast out from Agrabah. Next to him, there was a girl so pretty she might have been an angel. She had blue hair, the colour of the darkest night, and pale skin. She smiled at Gizelle, and for a second Gizelle smiled back she lowered her guard. And then her spoils were gone, and the boy was laughing with Carlos.

"Voleur!" she shouted after him, "Putain!"

They just laughed.

Gizelle was twelve when she met the Core Four for the first time.

A girl lay on a broken bed, the frame creaking and rusting, the mattress worn through. She was curled in on herself, coughing and hacking up blood. She wore thick clothes to keep out the chill, but they were ineffective. She was dying. Her hair was falling out in clumps, and she had a bleeding nose. Her teeth were rotting and her nails were brittle. She cradled her womb, extreme pain ripping through her every few seconds. There was no muscle on her body, and when she spoke, the words scraped her throat like sandpaper on bark.

"Ne pleure pas, petit frère. Il montre la faiblesse. Mais tu es plus fort que le père. Je connais," a figure creeped out from behind the door. He was growing into his ears, and there were tear stains down his face. He came as close to the bed as he dared, not willing to catch what she had, "Je vais chercher papa. Vous avez besoin de médicaments."

She shook her head weakly, eyes closing. She coughed some more, and blood spotted the thin blanket she curled under. Her shoulders hunched, and her yellowing skin pulled taunt against her bones, "Je suis passé à sauver."

She stilled for a second,and then her eyes shot open, "Travailler avec eux. Ils sont dangereux. La fille de Maleficent. Le fils de Cruella." Her eyes dulled and closed.

Gizelle was thirteen when she died.


	9. Of the line Hook

_**A/N:**_ ** _Hi readers!_**

 ** _I've been branching out from my usual pieces (so. much. research), but I apologise if I offended anyone with what was probably hideously translated french in the previous chapter. Google translate is my friend, but maybe not yours. I hope you enjoy this chapter, which feels shorter than the others, but provides a lot of background around the Core Four._**

 ** _Whipped cream & other Delights, _**

**_TheHarleyQueen_**

There was only one school on the Isle. The halls were opened onto the street, allowing any stranger into the school. The walls were covered in so many layers of graffiti that no one could see the original brick. Except for when it came to four very specific tags. A fae queen, a genie, an succubus and a madwoman marked the halls, the words 'Long Live Evil' curling around them like tendrils of smoke. The concrete floors were splattered with what looked like blood. A closer inspection would indicate that it was blood, and that it was fresh. Teenagers and children alike hung around the block, blowing smoke into the sky and leering at each other.

There was a shriek from one of the classrooms, and a cold laugh echoed. The intelligent ones left the quad, scampering into classrooms and out of the school. And then they appeared.

One wouldn't think that the four teens that come out of the classroom were dangerous. There were two boys and two girls, and only one of them had any factor of physical intimidation. He stood with his arms crossed, sleeves covering all but the tips of his tattoos, which poked out along his wrists. He stood behind the other boy, the pale one with light hair, who was wearing a black and red leather jacket and had a piercing hooked into his lower lip. He held the hand of the girl who wore royal blue- well, everything. Even her hair was blue. She wore big, clunky jewelry. It looked like costume jewelry, if anyone had to hazard a guess, but the gems in the centerpieces shone only as objects infused with magick can.

The last member reeked of such magick, long purple hair braided in a crown around her skull, green eyes lighting their way out of the school. She wore ripped jeans and heeled boots, with a mauve top cut so low one could almost see her naval. Her teeth were the just-slightly-sharp of the fae, just like the blue girl had the red lips and shining allure of a succubus, or the strong boy had the dark skin of the middle east.

 _But if one were to look closer, to look at her Ib (the Egyptian words make little sense, but they had the idea of souls down to a tee) they would see that her heart was a tainted black. Making deals with Death (AnubisHadesAzrealHelPluto) would do that to you._

On the other side of the street, a young woman smoked a cigarette and leaned against a fence that proclaimed 'CAUTION: ELECTRIC' in large, bold letters. The fence had been out since she was in school. A wisp of smoke drifted out of her mouth, and she cracked one eye open. Evie ( _AnaelVenusAphroditeFreyaHathorConquest_ ) stood in front of her. She was beautiful, that the rumors got right. She wore a short skirt and a thin blouse and a necklace (that was a collar that was a claim) with an amethyst on the pendant. She smiled at Helena (for that was the smoking girl's name- Helena Hook, daughter of Captain Hook of the Neverland Pirates) and took her hand, leading her through the cobbled alleyways, never once misplacing the thin heel of her stiletto. Eventually, they found an alley that was dark enough, or hidden enough, or just far enough for Evie's taste, and then it was fast and passionate. Their shirts dropped and their skirts were hiked up and jeans were unbuttoned and their mouths were sealed together and their teeth were clashing and it was over before it even began, Helena bracing herself against the bricks and her fingers clutching at nothing.

Then Carlos ( _LokiHermesMercuryGabrielPestilenceSet_ ) was at the edge of the alley, calling the angel in front of her, and Evie grabbed a shirt that wasn't hers and left her skirt slightly skewed and ran, winking back at Helena only once before leaving her behind completely.

In that moment, although she didn't recognise it, her Ka, her life force, shone that much brighter, and in that moment, she was not Helena Hook, but she was _PakhetSifJunoHeraIsis_. And they (because they were a they, they were so many people, goddesses worshiped and women borne of pain and strength) stood in shock, eyes unfocused and hearts full.

Some days later (and Helena wasn't certain it was days, the only indication of time passing was her father shouting and the dropping level of whiskey in the bottle) she was at the market, and there was new rolls of recoloured fabric hanging from the stalls, mostly-fresh produce and partially broken furniture. There were small, dirty children dashing between patrons and stealing small change.

And then they were there, their presence overwhelming, their scent of smoke and salt and magick and death permeating the air. They were beautiful and unique and they burned brighter than any star in the sky.

And he was watching them, the last one, the one with the string presence of War (and _MichealAresMarsHorusThor_ ) and he was pretty, she guessed, and she could see why every girl in the school gushed about him, and his muscles, and his eyes and his tattoos, but she preferred something softer, something more feminine, something like- something like that.

Evie stood at one of the stalls, except she wasn't paying attention to the stall's goods, she was paying attention to the purple-haired fae that was kissing up her neck, who was spinning Helena's angel around and kissing her, hard and fierce and they were beautiful ( _objectively, Helena could see that, but Juno was screaming in her head about unfaithfulness, and Sif was crying for Thor, who was so close, but would never see her the way he saw Anael and Azreal, and Isis was screaming for her son, for Horus, and Helena's head was so full she thought she was going to split in two_ ). And there was something wet on Helena's cheek, and you don't cry on the Isle of the Lost, so she turned and left.

And Death smirked against Conquest's neck.

 _"I win."_


	10. Of the Southern Isles

A devastatingly attractive boy lay on a cramped bed. He was _that_ boy, with dark, dark eyes that pierced people's souls, with high cheekbones and a scattering of freckles. He had dark, thick hair that had a reddish hue in the right light. Thick eyebrows framed his eyes, and the slightest of stubble crawled along the edges of his jaw. He had strong veins, flowing down his neck into broad shoulders and a heavy collarbone. To put it simply, he was pretty, and he knew it.

The bed he lay on wasn't small, no. It could have easily fit two people. And there was the problem. It was accommodating three.

The two women he was sharing the bed with were completely wrapped in each other, so much that they might have been ignoring him if it wasn't for a stray hand crawling along his leg and the second girl's back pressed up flat against his chest. But the two girls continued their fierce, almost angry kissing, locking themselves together at the lips, hands wandering up and down and under and over, but never stopping, not even for a second. And as the two girls continued their ministrations on each other, the pretty boy grew steadily more pale, the blood and life in him running through his body and directly to the hand of the first girl, the one with blue hair.

When his eyes unfocused and his breathing grew faint, he eventually spoke up.

"Stop," he coughed out, his chest heaving and a small trail of blood leaking from his nose. " _Stop,_ " he wheezed, but no sound came out until he ripped himself away from the hands of the blue-haired girl with eyes like diamonds and lips of blood. Immediately, his colour started returning, his eyes focusing and his nosebleed drying up. The two girls frowned at him.

" _You agreed to this,"_ the first girl said, her skin vibrant with the energy she'd syphoned off the boy. " _I agreed to helping you out, not to dying so that you and your girlfriend could get your kicks. What the fuck are you_?" The girl smiled at him, but not in the beautiful way she had when she'd invited him to bed. This time, her smile was violent, _bloodthirsty_.

" _You're smart. I didn't expect that from you. Usually, the pretty ones are the dumbest, if you know what I mean_." She smiled again, beautiful and deadly, " _You ever hear of a succubus, Hayden?"_

Everyone on the Isle had heard of a succubus. Violent, bloodthirsty women who sucked the life out of you in sexual contact. But in all his time, he'd only ever heard of _one_ monogamous succubus. He bowed his head in deference, " _Queen Evie."_

And now the blue-haired girl- a succubus, a queen- smiled with a _joy_ few ever feel. Being recognised as a _queen_ sent sparks down her spine. Her smile stretched her mouth, and the smallest drop of blood trailed from her lips, from a puncture where her lover had bitten her. She raised a hand to the corner of her mouth and wiped it away, licking the drop off her finger. Her lover had repositioned herself to better see the conversation between Hayden and Evie. Her long, dark hair fell away from her face, and Hayden gulped. Because lying half naked in his bed was _Mal le Fay_ , undisputed ruler of the Isle and Fae Queen, the woman who had walked into the Coward's Market, stepped onto a makeshift platform and announced that from now on, everyone on the Isle of the Lost answered to _her_ or died, and then killed one hundred people in cold blood to prove her point. The woman his father hated with every fibre in his body.

He shouldn't deny her- she would kill him.

" _Make a deal with me,"_ he rasped, the breath scraping past his lungs, " _I'll be a constant source of energy, but don't kill me now."_ A perfectly sculpted eyebrow quirked up, " _Or we could kill you now, and get a new body later. What's in it for us?_ " He was negotiating with the Queens about why they should make out while touching him on a regular basis. The kings would probably kill him without a thought. But he continued, " _You wouldn't incur the wrath of my father."_ And then the queens laughed, one airy and light, the other deep and throaty, " _all of the villains are full of_ _ **wrath**_ _. They all answer to us, even if they don't know it."_

" _You wouldn't have to explain the disappearances to your m- to Maleficent. She expects you to keep track of everyone on the Isle. Soon she'll figure it out."_ The queens nodded and actually seemed to be thinking it through. Time to bring out the big guns, " _I'll give you the location of Maleficent's staff."_ Queen Mal's eyes snapped open, her her voice dropped in temperature, " _You'll tell us the location of the staff anyway,"_ she commanded, eyes like ice and face stony, " _how did you even get that?"_ She was angry, that much was obvious, but she was also impressed. He shrugged from his position on the floor, " _Bought it off Felicia. Figured it would come in handy one day."_

" _What was her price?"_ she was trying to find out if it was worth less than what he was offering- or asking for. Well, he'd be honest, " _The usual. Ten years' service. I figured it was worth it."_ Mal's smile curved wickedly, and he wondered what he'd given her. He didn't ask {he wasn't sure he wanted to know}. There was a brief silence. Then Mal nodded satisfactorily and stood up, gathering up her clothing and dressing.

A devastatingly broken boy lay on an empty bed. He was _that_ boy, with dark, dark eyes that pierced people's souls, but now, his eyes were faded, unfocused. This skin was pale, but slowly regaining colour. His Adam's apple bobbed and he pinched the bridge of his nose. A note was crumpled in his fist, the first letter of an elegant script peeking out.

 _The Iron Palace, 2300h. Don't be late. Bring gifts._


	11. Of the line Ratcliffe

**_A/N: Good lord, it's been a while, hasn't it? Thanks so much for all the positive reviews. And now I have a laptop, so it's a thousand times easier to write. DISCLAIMER: I hold none of Gianna's opinions. She is a fictional character. Also, don't smoke. It's bad for your health. Love you guys, and please review._**

 _ **Whipped cream & other Delights,**_  
 _ **TheHarleyQueen**_

Coward's Market was silent as the grave. Every stall was empty, bereft of goods and owners alike (there are very few people on the Isle of the Lost who are dumb enough to leave sellable goods out in the open). A child ran across the square, its dirty, bare feet hitting the cobblestones hard as it ran for cover, dragging a headless ragdoll behind it. The first, hard raindrops of an oncoming storm hit the pavement, but the clouds did not immediately burst after that. Rather, the few drops dried up and left a still-empty market, everyone afraid of the damage that came from a few short minutes in the rain.

A high-pitched giggle echoed from a corner of the market, bouncing of corrugated iron stalls and polyester roofs. The few stalls that were made of brick and wood and cement seemed to curl in on themselves, seemed to try and take up less fountain in the square's centre, which had stopped running when Neverland was renamed the Isle of the Lost, and which had been cracked since King Beast had proclaimed that the Isle would receive no help from Auradon, seemed to crack further, new lines running down Tiger Lily's ear and cheek.

A girl with purple hair falling over her shoulders and curling behind her ear strolled into the square, green eyes flashing with hatred and excitement alike. She glared around the empty market, daring anyone brave enough to come out, to challenge her.

No one stirred.

The girl's name was Mal Morgana le Fay, and she was a truthseeker, with the sharp ears and teeth of the fae creatures that flitted through Coward's Market on a good day.

Another girl, with a thin, rattish face and pale hair and eyes followed the first's movements. ' _Scum,'_ the voices hissed, angry and clanging in her head, ' _Filth. Inhuman.'_ She continued to watch the fae girl with unpassionate human eyes. She couldn't feel _close_ to the level of emotion that burned through the fae girl, bright and hot. In fact, she couldn't feel much at all.

Her name was Gianna Ratcliffe, and she was racist. She had been raised on the Isle of the Lost, and her daddy hated savages.

What happened next happened so fast one wouldn't have seen it if one wasn't supernatural in _some_ aspect, although Gianna only thought about it much later (under the brunt of her daddy's fists and hard lessons). Mal dashed towards the hiding spot of the child, grabbing the ragdoll it had been dragging around earlier and smashing her cigarette butt into its clothing until they caught alight, then tossed it behind her, leaving it in a smouldering heap. She brought the cigarette up to her lips and took a long drag, cool and collected, as if nothing had happened (and to the child, nothing had. They'd had their doll, and now they didn't. It was that simple). The voices came again, louder and more persistent, ' _Arrogant bitch. Obnoxious harlot. Fascist cunt.'_

They grew louder and louder, hissing and clamouring in her skull, sending vibrations through her body, making her shiver and drawing the eyes of Mal le Fay, fifteen and vicious. The fae girl raised an eyebrow, critically examining her challenger before going back to her cigarette, eyes roving the market, looking for a gift to bring home to her _queen_.

The fury that built up in Gianna at being ignored by this insignificant _fairy_ was more than any human could possibly take. She leapt out from her 'hiding' spot, flying into an attack, golden dagger ready {really, it was tin _painted_ gold, but the greed of the Ratcliffes would never diminish}. The Queen only looked up from her exercise when the pale girl who was _so, so angry_ barrelled past her, blind in rage (and awful at fighting {she wasn't trained like Lei or Alice or Hayley}). The brawl that followed was fast and painful (for one party). Mal kicked when her opponent was down, Gianna learnt that. She also stepped on one's ribs and broke bones. She left Gianna Ratcliffe in a bloody, dirty mess (' _Where you belong,'_ the voices hissed, ' _if you can't beat second-rate pixie'_ ).

When Gianna woke up again, Coward's Market was filled as if it had never happened. Children ran across the square, climbing up Tiger Lily's back, played hopscotch on the jagged cobblestones and practised the thievery that would come in so handy later in their lives on the Isle. Every stall was back to how it had been before the storm, almost as if it had never happened (much, _much_ later, Gianna realised that it _hadn't_. The Market had cleared in the wake of Queen Mal of the Isle of the Lost, terrified of her anger. Following her _instructions_. Allowing her to teach Gianna a _lesson_ {and Gianna had had far too many _lessons_ from her daddy. She didn't need one from a _freak bitch_ that wasn't even _human_ }).

Gianna's legacy on the Isle of the Lost was crawling a trail of blood through Coward's Market, bright red and angry. Her legacy was the first that Mal punished for insulting the Queen, but certainly not the last. Her legacy was grovelling in front of the Iron Court, fearing for her life and scared out of her wits.

Gianna's legacy was scars running down her face, directly parallel to the cracks down Tiger Lily's stone cheek, carved into her face by _High Queen Mal the Powerful_.

Gianna's legacy on the Isle was her own punishment, not the punishment she doled out to others on account of their race.


	12. Of the line of Hearts

_**Hi, readers.**_  
 _ **So this chapter is pretty short, but I'm really happy with it. It sends the message I wanted it to. As always, please review. Please. It really brightens up my day.**_  
 _ **Whipped cream & other Delights,**_  
 _ **TheHarleyQueen**_

Purgatory. Asphodel. Niflheim. The Duat. Limbo. The Waiting Room. The Underland.

There was a house on a hill.

And in that house lay a baby.

And that baby was screaming and crying.

And her mother ignored her.

Downing another Aspirin and a quarter bottle whiskey.

And that baby's name was Alice.

(Not the Alice).

And her daddy lived in the house next door.

And he was mad.

(Off his rocker).

And he'd sneak into the house when the moon was full.

And her mother was off playing Russian Roulette.

And he'd whisper to the little girl.

"Alice. Alice. Alice, why'd you leave?"

"Alice. Alice. Alice, where are you?"

"Alice. Alice. Alice, I think I'm going mad!"

"Alice. Alice. Alice, why'd you leave?"

And the baby would gurgle.

And start to whine.

And he'd drip drops of tea into her mouth.

(Drip drip drip).

He was the Hatter.

Yes, yes, yes he was.

And his mind

Went round and round

In circles and circles

He was nuts.

Completely mad

Yes, he was

Completely off his rocker.

How wonderful.

And she was the same.

How wonderful.

And when the time came.

And mummy sent her off to kill the Hatter.

She had tea and biscuits with her.

And they ate like old friends.

Before she cut off his head.

The Last Supper.

How poetic.

And she and Gianna were best friends.

'Cause they were both mad.

And Alice.

(Not the Alice).

Saw Death break her friend.

And she giggled.

How awful.

How evil.

And Pestilence came up to her one afternoon.

"Good morning."

He said.

"Good Morning, Alice."

"I'd like you to kill someone for me."

"Her name is Elizabeth. She's pregnant."

And Alice.

(Not the Alice).

Brought Elizabeth tea and biscuits.

Before she cut off her head.

Massacre of the Innocents.

How poetic.

And her mama came up to her, late one evening.

And she said.

"Alice"

(Not the Alice).

"Dear Alice"

"You're such a big girl now."

"Won't you kill for me?"

"Kill Shere Khan, who stalks the Underland, won't you?"

So Alice took Red tea.

(Cause she kinda liked him).

(And tigers don't drink tea).

(Hares do).

And she found his dad.

Deep in his cave.

And she cut off his head.

But he came back.

And now Alice.

(Not the Alice).

Has claw marks across her stomach and her leg.

Because she was playing with Red.

(Playing with fire).

And one day.

Early in the morning.

Conquest came in quietly.

And kissed her hard.

It was nice, Alice guessed.

(Tea was nicer).

And she said.

"Alice."

"Sweet, pretty Alice."

"Won't you die for me?"

"Won't you kiss me some more"

And Alice.

(Not the Alice).

Nodded.

And they kissed some more.

Until she was pale and weak.

The Kiss.

(And Dante's Inferno).

How poetic.

And then her mama came in the room.

"Alice!"

She shrieked.

"Alice! That's the queen!"

And Alice

(Not the Alice).

Looked up.

And she said.

"Yes, mama. I know."

And she looked to Conquest.

"Would you like some tea?"

Baby Alice was completely nuts.

And one day.

(Time had slipped past her).

Alice.

(Not the Alice).

Got to sit on a throne.

And she had tea and biscuits and jam tarts.

(The Duchess of Hearts who ate some Tarts).

Got to shout and scream.

And the Queen of Hearts.

Lay in the stocks.

And off with her head.

How poetic.


	13. Of the line Shan

_**A/N: I don't own Descendents (2015) or Isle of the Lost. Is anyone else *super* excited for Descendents 2? I'm slightly upset that it's throwing The Seven Deadly Sins out of the realm of canon, but I can accept, I suppose. Also, keep your eyes out for a new HarleyQueen story in the Descendants category soon. It will be completely free of the Seven Deadly Sins 'verse, but I'm super excited for it.**_

 ** _Whipped Cream & Other Delights,_**

 ** _TheHarleyQueen_**

A girl stood against a brick wall outside Coward's Market. Above her head curled furious green fire and the words _The Dragon Shall Rise Again_ in a deep violet. A katana was sheathed against her back, and her lip was split. Her clothing was pristine, but there were light bruised splayed across her skin. Shrieks drifted from the market, but she remained in her position, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of her pocket and lighting one, pressing it against her lips. Her name was Shan Lei, and she was the thunder of the hummed a tuneless song as she blew out a cloud of smoke.

Eventually, the screams seemed to subside, and a boy fell through the fence of barbed wire. He looked to be roughly the girl's age, and he had a bruise blossoming against his pale cheekbone. His eyes were bloodshot and his nails bitten ragged with shredded cuticles. Shan Lei scoffed and left her cigarette between her lips while reaching down to pull the boy up. He rolled his eyes but took her hand anyway.

"No comments from you." Lei raised her eyebrows and mimed sealing her lips. She smirked at him and headed towards the outside of town, motioning for him to follow her. She turned a corner, and when he followed her, she wasn't there anymore.

"He'd already left the brawl by the time you'd arrived, you know that, right?" Her voice echoed down from her perch atop a tin roof. The boy sat down where he was, dropping his head into his palm and rolling his eyes.

"Of course I know. _King_ Carlos isn't one to hang around and watch the chaos he causes. He leaves that to his _queen_ ," the biting sarcasm in his voice had Lei narrowing her eyes and pursing her lips. "Be careful with what you say, GJ. They say the kings and queens have ears everywhere." GJ stuck out his tongue at his companion, "Who even cares? Not like they can do anything to me. They already beat me bloody. They _killed_ Gizelle. There is nothing they can do to me anymore. So I'll say what I want. Fuck them."

Lei hopped down from her vantage point, winking at him and starting to run, leaving her partner behind. GJ didn't follow. He wasn't completely stupid. He knew some things and the fact that the Huns' grounds were completely and utterly _no man's land_ if you weren't born a Hun.

Two six-year-olds sat next to each other, playing a game of pat-a-cake. They giggled together and fell backwards, lying on the grass, staring at each other through the blades. A shadow loomed over them, and the first girl stood up. The second one, the skinnier one, continued to lie on the grass { _God, would she regret that_ }. The large man who was casting the shadow locked his hand around the standing girl's neck.

"Stand up, Lei. You were late for training." Lei looked stricken and hastened to follow his instructions. But when she did, he remained frowning and did not remove his hand. The little girl bit her lip and her eyes started to tear up when they linked with her sister's. They'd both known that something would happen if Lei missed her training, but normally he would just refuse to give them dinner. His younger daughter (by three minutes) was unused to the pain he was inflicting on her and tried to gasp for mercy, but he just tightened his fist. Lei, realising what was happening, flew at him, trying to put a stop to her sister's pain, but her ire seemed to not affect Shan Yu in the slightest. He just held her away with one arm, turning her head to watch her sister lose her colour, and then her pulse. Lei sobbed, louder and louder, pleading with her father to _just let go_ { _please. Please! Kill me instead. She's better than me. Let me die!_ }.

Hopeless. Shan Yu stared his daughter down while he left the _other_ one's corpse on the floor of the field, "Come. Now, Lei! We're behind as it is." With one last, pained glance toward her sister's still body, Lei followed her commander. Vowing to return.

A rotting corpse lay in a meadow. It was laden with flowers and held a teddy bear in its hand. One of the bear's eyes were missing, and there was a slit along its stomach where the stuffing was spilling out. A young woman stood next to the corpse, anger filling her eyes with tears that silently dropped off her cheeks. _Show no weakness_. She held the sword that had previously been strapped across her back in both hands above the corpse, the tip _just_ touching the chest of the body. The woman's head was held high, the hair cut short, and her eyes were black. She glanced back at the man behind her, whose eyes were cold and arms were crossed. He nodded at her once, eyes narrowed, and went back to watching silently, leaning against a nearby tree.

In one smooth motion, the woman lifted her sword and plunged it down into her sister's corpse, the sword going all the way through the body and lodging itself in the ground beneath her.

Shan Lei turned and left.


	14. Of the line Gothel

_**A/N: I don't own Descendants. I'm sorry for the long wait between chapters, but as some of you know, I started Lutalica, and that snowballed. I hope you enjoy the back story in this chapter. Remember to follow/favourite/review.**_

 _ **Whipped Cream & Other Delights,**_

 _ **TheHarleyQueen**_

There was a well-furnished tower on the Isle of the Lost. Just the one- towers were uncommon enough as they were on the Isle of the Lost, considering the fact that _everything_ on the Isle was cast off from Auradon, and _everything_ was built from scratch. So there were very few towers on the Isle of the Lost. Fact. There was only one that had any _good_ furniture in it. Fact. It belonged to Mother Gothel. Fact.

The room, for it was one room, was beautiful. It had a thick carpet that spanned the entire floor, soft as clouds and red as blood. There were thick curtains that hung across the windows, keeping out any and all sunlight that could possibly be brave enough to cross the threshold. A three-year-old girl lay on the floor, her hair crawling down to the bottom of her back. She was beautiful. Opinion.

The girl's name was Miranda Gothel, and she would lie in her mother's tower, humming to herself, her eyes shining with knowledge and an ethereal spirit. She was _Raziel_ , she was _Athena_ and _Minerva_ and _Mímir_ and _Thoth_ , and she was so much more than the Isle of the Lost could ever hold.

The door opened and two women walked through. One was elderly- she used a walking stick and her hair was grey, and her spine creaked as she walked next to a woman who stood strong and tall in black and red and white, a woman with two-toned hair and a nine-year-old boy trailing behind her, clothing falling off his body and cigarette burns scarring his collarbone. His hair was frosted white and a thin line of blood trickled from a gash under his left eye. The right side of his face was bruised and swollen, a sickly yellow colour. All of that was done to him by his mother. Fact. She was evil. Opinion.

The boy was Carlos, but he would be more than that, Miranda could _see_ it. He would be a _god_ , in all rights. He was her brother and her enemy in their different lives, but now, he was a friend, and she would be his advisor, as was her role in this life. He would be a Lover and a King and a General in different lives, but in this life, he would be _all_ of those things. And she would be his guide. She stood up and toddled over to him in all her three-year-old { _and millennia old_ } wisdom, and clutched onto him. She couldn't reach much higher than his midriff, but she clung to him until he looked over at his mother. With her consent, he sat down next to Miranda. He didn't talk much (read: at all), but she just smiled at him and handed him the strip of ribbon that had fallen off her dress. He pulled a needle and thread from the lapel and sewed it back together, silently.

She babbled on quietly, sitting still as trained by her mother { _haemophilia is a real condition, baby girl. I don't ever want you to get hurt_ }, ' _You're real smart, Carlos, you could be an en-gin-eer'_ she enunciated carefully, ' _And mother thinks so too, said you could break the barrier, y'know. How great would that be? Then we could all be free, in Auradon, and everything would be good.'_

Carlos froze in his actions of tying the string together. He turned to her slowly. Their mothers' chatter faded into the background. He leaned into her, so that their foreheads touched, and whispered softly to her, ' _You can't say that, Miranda. Not now, not here, not ever. Maleficent's daughter preparing something big. Everything will change, and there will be no place for Auradon sympathizers_ _in her world. Be careful, Miranda.'_ The three-year-old just smiled brightly at him. Her gaze wandered over to her mother, who was now sitting in her rocking chair, and Carlos' mother who was blowing her smoke out through the open window that was always left open "to encourage Miranda's lungs".

" _It's okay. You'll be on Morgana's side, so I'll be fine,'_ a smile quirked on Carlos' face, but his brows furrowed, ' _How do you see that? I've never even spoken to her. I've only ever seen her when mamman goes to visit Maleficent.'_ The three-year-old just rolled her eyes fondly, as if she were a grandmother imparting worldly advice on her unruly grandchild, ' _You'll get there, Carlos. When the evil queen's daughter comes to you, then the pattern will start again. And the pattern has echoed through the eons, and it will happen again.'_

She smiled again, and her self-assuredness seeped in to warm him, ' _Trust the pattern, Carlos. Azael, Anael, Michael, Gabriel, they trusted the pattern. Mercury, Pluto, Venus, Mars. All of them knew that the pattern would play out as it was supposed to. They all listened, to Minerva, to Raziel, to Mímir. Trust the pattern, Carlos. The universe has a plan.'_

* * *

A thirteen-year-old Miranda stared out of the window of a different tower, this one _far_ more luxurious than the one she'd spent most of her youth in. She sat on a pile of pillows, underneath the blanket propped up by a pole. A _fort_ , protection against the outside world, against the thoughts that pushed against her brain, the knowledge trying to get in. The sky was pitch black, but for the spires of flame rising from Auradon. There were always flames rising from the remnants of Auradon, but usually, she didn't appreciate them. The world sparkled in her eyes, and the stars shone in her thoughts.

The door creaked open, and Loki came in. He crawled into the fort next to her and lay back. His voice floated up to her, soft and strong, ' _You were right. The pattern has completed. And to think that there was a time when I didn't know the power of the pattern. I was foolish.'_

' _You were a boy. You changed with the world. You didn't need to know the specifics of the pattern.'_ He smiled at her, and barked out a laugh, ' _You knew. You were younger than I was. Still are, actually. But you knew.'_

' _I was your counselor, your guidance. I knew, Loki, because I had to. I had to spark the pattern.'_


	15. Of the line Medusa

_**A/N: I don't own Descendants (2015) or Isle of the Lost. Guys, I'm on some sort of a *roll*, and I don't know what's happening. Honestly, after this, there's probably going to be three months of nothing, because school starts on Tuesday. But enjoy the continued stories until then!**_

 _ **Whipped Cream & Other Delights,**_

 _ **TheHarleyQueen**_

Downtown was _ugly_. It was dirt and despair and corpses, it was run-down boutiques and houses built out of corrugated iron. It was roofs made of plastic bags and held down by was houses for a family of five consisting of one room. It was foul water and muddy streets and barbed wire fences. Downtown was bars that were robbed nightly, it was drunkards in midday and it was _furious_ upper class beating its inhabitants to the ground. It was bruises and blood and pain. It was cleaning cuts with whisky and sewing them together with dental floss, it was weeks of starvation and it was parents who didn't know you existed { _Asim, Mikhail, Khadijah, Icarus_ }. It was pain to pay the bills and the debts your parents owed, it was hard-won mouldy food and it was _submissiveness_.

 _Madame Medusa's Pawn Shop and Boutique_ was hideous. It sold animal skins, odd magickal items, and broken technology. It sold old food and it sold the services of Alice { _not_ _ **the**_ _Alice_ }. It sold small charms on behalf of Felicia, and it sold animal bones and broken gemstones for those who wanted to craft their own charms. It was held together by duct tape and the will of Mikhail Medusa. It had a front room and a back room; he slept in the back room, surrounded by odd pieces of stock that he couldn't leave out because of their value { _whether it was too high or too low, it ended up in the back room_ }. The back room had a mattress with springs popping out and stuffing spilling across the floor, and it had two wooden chairs that looked as if they'd been made in 1910.

As was generally the case, those chairs were currently occupied by none other than Dimitri and Astoria Tremaine, who were kissing fiercely. They'd probably retire to his mattress soon, Mikhail thought, even though he'd warned them _time_ and _time_ again not to use his bed for sex. They didn't seem to really care what he thought.

But then again, they paid him a good dollar every time they came through his door, so he didn't really have place to complain. He owed Felicia Facilier so much he could work for the rest of ten lifetimes and still owe her millions. _Madame_ Medusa had struck up a deal with the voodoo practiser, and she expected her son to get her out of the _hundreds_ of years of service she _accidentally_ owed the African-American woman.

So the Tremaines would use his bed for sex, and he'd extort every customer ringing the bell on the way into the Pawn Shop, and the Kings and Queens would ignore him, because they were so far above his station they likely didn't even know he existed { _soon, he would eat his words_ }. That was lie in downtown, and yeah, it was shit, but it was still better than life in the Underland.

 _By far_.

* * *

Uptown wasn't beautiful, not in any form or shape. It was brick-faced buildings and chipped cobblestone streets, it was cracks in the barrier just because of the sheer _power_ that collected in the area. It was Coward's Market and underground intelligence. It was spies for the Iron Court, it was the fear of the fae in your _bones_ , it was fights and dancing and singing and mockery. It was classier alcohol and more dangerous drunks. It was blood staining velvet and it was trading in magicks. It was the Isle school and it was feigned class. And it was far, far more dangerous than downtown.

That was certainly because of the woman who now walked down the street towards the Pawn Shop. She was beautiful and deadly. She was pale, her skin having always missed the sun that was blocked by the rain clouds hovering over the Isle of the Lost. Her lips were a pale pink, and her eyes were blue and wide, betraying false innocence. Men would { _and had_ } die for her withou a second thought, just so those big eyes of hers wouldn't tear up, and they wouldn't think it out of the ordinary.

Tonight, she had a mission.

She silently slipped into Madame Medusa's, taking care _not_ to ring the bell. She didn't want to alert _anyone_ to her presence. She started to search the shop, slowly and quietly, but her searching grew more frantic when she couldn't find the object she searched for. Mikhail stepped into the shadows of the

' _I need that shell,'_ she whispered, unaware of her audience. Her searching became more frantic and her cares with alerting anyone seemed to disappear. Her brow was furrowed and she bit her lip, ransacking the drawers behind the counter, ' _Mamma can't find out, she'll_ _ **kill**_ _me. I swear to god, if she says_ _ **anything**_ _-'_

The girl froze and turned to Mikhail's hiding spot. He arranged his face into a suitable smirk, and stepped out from the shadows, head held high. He had something over this girl- Queen Evie, Queen Regnant over the Isle of the Lost. There wasn't a price in the world that could compare to _that_. The Queen's face was impassive, but fury sparked behind her eyes, even he could see that. Whether it was at him or herself, he didn't know. He wasn't sure finding out would be a good thing.

' _Hey baby,'_ her voice lowered and somehow became _more_ beautiful than it had been, ' _I heard you had some real powerful stock here. Ursula's necklace, huh? That's real impressive. You don't think you could show me, do you?'_ And he was so, so tempted, because he would _die_ for this beautiful woman in an instant, but something was _wrong_. He knew that much. _Why_ should he die for her? He didn't even _know_ her.

Queen Evie watched, frustrated and bewildered, as this poor, pathetic _boy_ fought off the succubus' curse. Then his jaw clenched, and his face settled. _He wasn't going to give in_. Terrified though she was, Evie wasn't _dumb_. She had to act fast, or she'd be out of the shop and her mother's before the sun rose.

' _I request a service of you, as a Queen of the Isle. I need to silence a girl, permanently. But because of Mal's_ _ **ridiculous**_ _law. I can't just kill her,'_ the Queen paused to roll her eyes in fondness, ' _She's a direct Descendant. I need to silence Gianna Ratcliffe. She saw something she wasn't supposed to. And I need to do it before dawn.'_ The Queen stood straighter, threw her head up and her shoulders back, ' _I have a contract, and a way to make her sign. I need Ursula's necklace.'_

' _Your mother's deep in debt, isn't she? And she expects you to dig her out?'_ Mikhail didn't even question how she knew that. The Iron Court knew _everything_. But if she could get him off the hook… well.

' _I can make so she won't remember the faintest possibility of being indebted. You won't have to do anything, and she'll still get what she deserves,'_ the Queen smiled at the wonder in the boy's eyes { _too easy_ }. But she'd underestimated him.

' _You erase her memory, moved me and the Boutique to uptown, and I keep the necklace. I'll destroy her voice, but I keep the necklace.'_

The Queen's eyes raked over him, probably considering and weighing options. Then she gave a brief nod.

' _Deal.'_


	16. Of the line Phillips

_**A/N: I don't own Descendants (2015, 2017) or Isle of the Lost. Okay, so Descendants 2 is amazing. Like, wow. Amazing**_

 _ **Please enjoy the chapter and review.**_

 _ **Whipped Cream & Other Delights,**_

 _ **TheHarleyQueen**_

Sally-Anne Phillips _rarely_ ventured out into the rest of the Isle of the Lost. There were people who could _do_ things, things that weren't _normal_ , according to her Daddy. There were pretty, pale girls who would kill you if they kissed you, and there were angry, dangerous girls with green eyes who could make _stuff_ happen. There were boys and girls who'd grant wishes, and _everyone_ was a killer. There were four, he whispered in the dead of night, when he _knew_ no one could hear him, that she _had_ to avoid at all costs if she ever went outside. He said that they were the children of the _worst_ villains, the sons of Cruella de Ville and Jafar, and the daughter of the Evil Queen. He told her their stories, and she'd stayed awake for weeks, terrified of the shadows and the stories { _but they weren't stories, she knew those people, she'd seen them in the streets_ }. But the one her Daddy always warned her against, the one he said was the _most_ dangerous, was the daughter of Maleficent. She was a _fairy_ , said her Daddy. She was powerful and she could make you do things you didn't want to, and she was temperamental, said her Daddy.

So Sally-Anne Phillips rarely ventured out into the streets of the Isle of the Lost. But today, she did. It was barge day, and everyone knew what that meant. It was the only time in the entire month when you could get whatever you needed, free of charge. It was the only opportunity Sally-Anne ever got to leave the house, so she grabbed at it { _her Daddy hated barge day. He hated seeing the villains he'd grown up with in storybooks, hated being reminded that he was considered to be one of them_ }.

The roads of the Isle of the Lost { _Neverland, her Daddy sometimes called it, when he thought she wasn't listening. Sally-Anne didn't understand why_ } were small and run-down and crowded. People pushed and jostled from every angle, trying to get to the barge first, trying to get the best of the pick. So Sally-Anne didn't even take note when a hand strayed somewhere it wasn't supposed to when her bra snapped when her breast felt warmer for a second, and when the air around her suddenly smelt of chemicals.

She should have.

* * *

When Sally-Anne woke up, she almost started crying right there. She was sore all over, and she couldn't see through one eye. Bite marks on her _thighs_ stang, and there were bruises on her breasts. She staggered up, and a thin trickle of blood { _and something else_ } ran down her thighs. Her white dress was torn and stained yellow and red, and she had no bra or underwear. And she had no recollection of what happened. There were several men in the street, all her father's age, _at least_. They eyed her hungrily, as if she were a piece of meat, or something _less_. She _hated_ it. She tried to hold what was left of her dress over her body, trying to remember where she was and how to get home.

One of the men came up to her, but he looked nicer than the others. He must've been roughly twenty, but he was kind. He picked her up and carried her to his house, offering a dress { _he didn't say who it had belonged to, and she didn't ask_ } and a bowl of soup. He was soft and sweet and gave her a bath and a bed for the night.

When she woke up again, he was lying behind her, _in the same bed_. His body was pressed flush against her, and he held her tightly so that she couldn't escape. His mouth left wet kisses on her neck, and he started slowly rocking against her. She scrunched her eyes closed and begged for it to be over.

The next morning, he wasn't in her bed, and everything _looked_ alright, but she felt dirtier than ever, and something sticky leaked between her legs.

She escaped the house in the next few minutes, running faster than she ever had in her life.

* * *

And she was running, running, trying to find a way _out_ , trying to follow the signs that made no sense, trying to recognise something, _anything_. She ran and ran, with no direction, until she hit another group of three men. She scrambled back, begging, pleading, _praying_ that they'd just let her go. And they did. Sort of.

A beautiful girl appeared. Her eyes were a brighter green than Sally-Anne had ever seen in her life, and the air crackled around her. She smelt like smoke and spray paint, even from across the street. She wore all leather and metal, and her neck was laden with necklaces. She growled under her breath, scattering the three men far and wide. Her eyes appraised Sally-Anne, and suddenly she knew. This was _Maleficent's Daughter_. She nodded as if she'd found something that satisfied her, and left. Sally-Anne was left lying in the street, covered in dust, but alive. And alone.

* * *

There were four rules on the Isle of the Lost, Sally-Anne { _recently dubbed 'Sal' by Queen Evie and her Kings_ } soon learnt. They were simple, easy-to-follow, and you'd be in a _whole lot of pain_ if you broke them.

 _1\. If you want it, take it._

Being nice got you nowhere, paying got you robbed. If you wanted something, you had to _make_ it yours, by force or by niceties. Sal was _particularly_ good at that when she got better at using her looks to her advantage. Queen Evie taught her that, taught her to take _control_ of what she was and how she looked, to turn what was once her weakness into her weapon.

 _2\. If you can't take it, break it._

King Jay was usually the one who did that for her. If her charms and looks didn't work for her, she'd resort to stealing. If _that_ didn't work, she'd get into a fight. That was when King Jay came to her rescue. He'd _punch_ and _kick_ and _hurt_ until the person backed down. Then he'd hand her the item, giving her the option of keeping it { _dismissing the fight, allowing the owner to return to their stall without shame_ } or breaking it { _inciting a feud, creating a rift between two alliances (hers always won)_ }.

 _3\. You need to not be yourself._

King Carlos taught her this one. Once, she'd ended up in Hell Hall with him, through a series of extremely long and complicated events. And he'd just… changed. He'd wilted, become less, hid in the shadows. He'd stopped remarking- stopped speaking- and just _agreed_ with his mother, even when she was completely _wrong_ { _Maleficent did not, by any measure or degree run the Isle of the Lost. King Carlos did not make his mother aware of this fact_ }.

 _4\. You may not kill a Direct Descendant._

If you were locked in here because your parent was a villain { _if your parent had a 'hero'_ }, you were a Direct Descendant. They were rare, and the Iron Court took it _very_ seriously when one was killed { _Gizelle's case went on for years_ }. And you didn't want to be on the wrong side of the Iron Court.

* * *

Sal spent a lot of time wishing she was in Auradon, especially after the Kings and Queens left. Sure, Hayley made sure that she wasn't _stabbed_ or _beaten_ , but that was different to having three people she could rely on come hell or high water. It was different to having two brothers and a big sister, different to having a guardian angel, someone she knew was always watching her, even if they were nowhere to be found.

Sal spent a lot of time hating the Isle of the Lost.


	17. Of the line Khan

**_A/N: I don't own Descendants (2015) or Isle of the Lost. Thanks to everyone who corrected my error!_**

 ** _Please review and favourite!_**

 ** _Whipped Cream & Other Delights, _**

**_TheHarleyQueen_**

 _Tyger Tyger, burning bright, In the forests of the night;_ Red Khan was danger and anger and fire . He was the only being who could prowl the forests of the Huns without being killed. He was fury and terror and a hunter to end all others. He was a tiger, and it showed in his appearance. He had dark hair that was a tangled mess of branches and clotted blood. He had skin that was tanned dark because he spent his days in the little sun that graced the Isle of the Lost through the storm clouds. He even had stripes, clawed into his body before he could walk, before he could speak. The scars had grown with him, grown part of him. He'd be nothing anymore, without his scars.

 _He was Red, and he was made of the fire his father so feared._ And he had claws made of teeth and bone, claws strapped to his fingers with leather and sweat. Red didn't use a weapon, he was a weapon, and nothing was more valuable, not when it came to the Isle of the Lost, not when it came to the Descendants of the villains that haunted the prison.

 _In what distant deeps or skies. Burnt the fire of thine eyes?_ Red had no _allies_ , had no friends, had no one who would stand up for him. In the streets of Coward's Market, prisoners of Auradon gave him a wide berth, knowing of his traitorous and bloodthirsty tendencies. Shere Khan was _laughed_ at amongst the villains, but Red was feared. Feared the way his father feared fire, the way Maleficent feared oblivion, the way the Evil Queen feared old age.

When Red wanted something, he got it for _himself_. When the pack wanted something, Red got it from them. When someone laughed at Shere Khan, Red made them stop. When Alice { _not the Alice_ } tried to kill Shere Khan, at the instruction of her mother, Red was the one who pulled her off, who pried the axe out of her hands, who ripped her flesh to shreds in retaliation. Red was the one who cast her out of the cave, into a snowstorm , who left her to die with no remorse.

 _And what shoulder, & what art, Could twist the sinews of thy heart?_ As Alice { _not the Alice_ } and Red grew older, their relationship changed. His eyes lingered on her for longer, and a dark lust filled his eyes when he eyed the scars he'd given her, marking her as his forever, or at least as long as they would live { _and considering they lived on the Isle of the Lost, that would be a very, very long time_ }. And her cheeks, which were gaunt and stretched over bone from malnutrition, grew rounder and brighter as Red Khan hunted down food for the girl that was in no rights a queen, or a princess, and would never be, but was easily as crazy as he was, had raised to be less than human { _or more than human, if you looked at it from a tiger's eyes_ } just like him, and he became protective of her, possessive of the child-minded murderess of the Isle of the Lost.

 _What the anvil? what dread grasp, Dare its deadly terrors clasp!_ Red had claws surgically inserted into his hands by Felicia Facilier { _and all for the cheap price of his soul. Which was fine, because it wasn't like he was using it anyway}_ and Alice { _ot the Alice_ } was the only one at his bedside, the only one who wasn't scared enough { _or scarred enough, or smart enough, or sophisticated enough_ } to wait for Red to awaken, finally _less_ human than all the others.

Alice was the only one who smiled at Red as his fingers bled when he first tried to use his claws, was the only one who brought Red small prey while he was growing accustomed to his new claws , was the only one who was willing to { _and enjoyed_ } hunting with Red, because she was the only one who didn't care what happened to her { _but Red did}_.

 _Did he smile his work to see? Did he who made the Lamb make thee?_ Alice was timid and meek, but also fierce and wild. She was a _murderess_ and she didn't know why it was wrong, she was a lover who gave freely, she was a girl who protected a boy who would kill. Red Khan was fire and anger and danger and passion. Red Khan knew he was wrong, and he liked it. Red Khan was the worst part of the Isle, the part even Maleficent feared, the part the Iron Court was trying to eradicate { _There was no chance. When you cut off one head, two more will grow in its place_ }.

 _What immortal hand or eye, Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?_ Red Khan was created out of fear of his father, out of the terror of the tiger and the terror of the jungle, but he became so much more, he became the protector and the friend of the select few on the Isle whom he deemed great. He became a tiger and he became _power_.


	18. Of the line Praestrigia

_**A/N: I don't own any Descendants media. Thanks to all the people who reviewed, favourited, and followed Hell Must Be Empty (All The Devils Are Here).**_

 _ **Whipped Cream & Other Delights,**_

 _ **TheHarleyQueen**_

If people ever deigned to talk about it, they just called it _The Tank_. Once a year, the soldiers of Auradon would troop in, scoop all the inhabitants into what were basically just glorified _buckets_ , and then replace the water. The rest of the time, she who lived in The Tank was simply left to _rot_ like common fish.

The Tank was inhabited by one woman- one very, _very_ dangerous woman. Ursula, Queen of the Sea { _or would-be, has-been, rather_ } a woman who _constantly_ craved her next meal, a woman who wasn't dumb enough to ask a _voodoo practiser_ for a spell { _after all,_ _ **she'd**_ _once been a voodoo user, and she knew the kind of debt you'd get yourself into_ } but _had_ had three wishes granted to her by a djinni- Jafar's son, Jay. The inhabitants of the Isle, those who weren't confined to The Tank, called him King Jay, but to her, he was just Jay. She wasn't under his rule, she wasn't under anyone's rule, because of The Tank { _secretly, she'd rather be under someone's rule than stuck in this blasted tank_ }. Ursula was a woman who cooked for others- at Ursula's Fish and Chips { _you'll take it how I make it!_ }- but a woman who always hungered for her next meal, because her diet was _slightly_ out of the ordinary.

Being confined to the tank meant she needed someone else to get it for her- and then that someone came along- Aaron, son of Ariel Ursula. He had red hair and legs that grew scaly when they touched the water of The Tank, but they were still _legs_ , which was more than Ursula had. So when the djinn child, _Jay_ , stumbled into her shop and she caught him _stealing_ { _her food!_ _ **Her**_ _food! How_ _ **dare**_ _he!_ } she offered him silence in exchange for three wishes, _which he didn't know he could give her_ { _dumb child_ }.

 _One-_ a potion to change Aaron's look, to make him _her_ son by blood.

 _Two_ \- a potion to sweeten his voice, to make it sultry and compelling and everything a _siren's_ voice _should_ be.

 _Three_ \- she could have wished for legs, but she was too _proud_ of her heritage, of _what_ she was, so she wished for something else. For Aaron to _need_ to return to the water every twenty-four hours or risk _death_. That way, he _always_ came back.

But everything has a price, _especially_ on the Isle of the Lost, and that was true of the wishes she made as well.

 _One_ \- She cut off his pain receptors. He felt _nothing_ , no matter what happened to him { _he felt no emotional pain either, but he never revealed that, not on the Isle. It was a secret strength of his_ }.

 _Two_ \- She broke his lungs, and when he wasn't singing, he spoke in harsh, raspy whispers and broke into coughs and choked on thin air.

 _Three_ \- She made him _crave_ affection so desperately, it was almost like he was _good_ { _she stamped that out of him_ _ **real**_ _quick_ }.

The corner behind Ursula's Fish and Chips shop was frequented by teenage girls who were looking for a boy to spend the night with. Some of them never came home. Their parents didn't exactly _care_. Sometimes a boy would figure it out, and after more than three or four visits, he too would never come home. Such was the way of the Isle of the Lost. Some people went missing, some kids died, some kids killed. It was what it was.

Sometimes there was music playing out of the rusted speaker. The speaker had been installed on the Isle of the Lost by the Auradonians, and when they remembered, it would play old tunes of days long past. _Once Upon a Dream_ was a popular one, before maleficent burnt down half the Isle to make it stop. _Someday My Prince Will Come_ and _Let It Go_ were some of the most commonly played. But there was one that rarely made it onto the speaker, yet Uriah still knew it _off by heart_. The song consisted of vague memories of a bright sunlight and a smiling woman with bright hair { _she brushed her hair with a fork, for some reason_ }.

' _I want to be where the people are_

 _I want to see_

 _Want to see 'em dancing_

 _Walking around on those_

 _Whadd'ya call 'em? Oh, feet_

 _Flipping your fins you don't get too far_

 _Legs are required for jumping, dancing_

 _Strolling along down a_

 _What's that word again? Street'_

His voice was soft and enticing, and the girls all spun around, frantically trying to search out the sound. When they saw him, they were stunned. Hair with snow white roots and pure black tips, skin so light it was a pale _blue_ , black clothing and lips so red he looked as though he may be Snow White's illegitimate son { _wrong hero_ }. As he sang, he drew nearer, and his voice became so soft they had to lean in to hear it. He grabbed the most beautiful woman of them all { _she had nothing on the Queens, but she'd do_. _His mother insisted on her meals only being the_ _ **finest**_ } and he led her by the hand, slowly, still singing, into Ursula's.

Then all _Hell_ broke loose.

' _What are you singing?_ ' A voice screeched from The Tank, ' _Are you singing_ _ **her**_ _song?'_ The boy stopped singing and the girl froze, absolute _terror_ on her face. A startled squeak escaped her lips, but she was ignored. A tentacle slowly reached out of The Tank and wrapped around the boy's throat and he started coughing, ' _You_ _ **don't**_ _sing that song. Ever. You understand me, Uriah?'_

More coughing, more gasping for breath, more _pain_.

' _Yes, mother.'_

The tentacle retracted for a second, before grabbing the neck of the girl.

' _None for you.'_

* * *

 _ **This is part of a series. The previous work is No Escaping When I start (Once I'm In I Own Your Heart) the next work is What They Didn't Do.**_ _  
_


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